


December 8th - Silent Night

by IMAgentMI



Series: RvB Ficlet Advent Calendar [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:23:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI
Summary: York just wants cookies.  North is asleep on the couch.





	

York took a detour.

His sparring session with Wyoming had been the last of the day, and with no one waiting to take the floor, they had gone on considerably longer than intended. York was desperate for bed, but even more hungry than tired. It wasn't a far walk to the rec room, and North had been talking all day about baking cookies.

However, when he got there, North was slumped on the couch. He had a half-finished candy cane patterned afghan sliding off his lap, strands of red, white and green yarn tangling. York gave him a sideways glance before making a beeline for a massive tupperware container on a nearby table. He wolfed down one shortbread cookie, then held a second in his teeth while he wrapped another two in a napkin to take back to his quarters. Satisfied, he looked back at North, wondering if he was about to get a lecture about being greedy, but his friend was still out cold, head tilted back and a tiny bead of drool in the corner of his mouth.

He finally took a bite out of the cookie and swallowed. “North.” No response. “Hey, North.” A foot twitched and York nudged at it with the toe of his shoe as he finished off the cookie in his hand, pausing to make sure he wouldn’t spray crumbs with his next words. “C’mon. It’s late ass o’clock. Get to bed.” One hand fluttered in what could have been a “go-away” motion. “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.” That got no response at all, and York gave up.

Without setting down his cookies, he fished the crochet hook out of the cushions where North had dropped it, and set it on the table. One-handed he gathered the skeins of yarn together, moving them away from the edge of the couch, and tugged the afghan over as much of North as it would cover. Then York left, shaking his head and idly wondering if his cookies would make it all the way back to his room.


End file.
